As the year comes to a close, I’ll spend time saying goodbye to the Obama family and his presidency. This essay was originally published here in August, 2011 and later became a chapter in my book I’ll Call It Like I See It: A Lesbian Speaks Out.
THE TATTOO
I got a tattoo two years ago in November, 2009. I think it’s beautiful. It’s an elaborate cursive “T” in the standard bluish-green tattoo ink used by first-time tattoo getters. It originally stood for Teresa, my life partner of the past ten years.
Now, I notice all tattoos with greater interest and find a wealth of visible body art on display. Most of what I see is far more creative and in much brighter colors than my three-inch alphabet letter on the inside of my left wrist. However, other people’s ink creations don’t put a damper on my enthusiasm for my own ink.
The young man who performed the artistry tried to hide his surprise when I walked into his business and announced I wanted a tattoo. I told him I mulled it over for fifty years and thought that was an adequate amount of time to consider…
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